


Clean Lines

by LunchLich



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Art, Banter, Dirty Jokes, Dorian Has Self-Esteem Issues, First Dates, Flirting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern Thedas, Tattoos, The Homoerotism Of Getting A Tattoo, fic with art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunchLich/pseuds/LunchLich
Summary: When Dorian goes in to get his next tattoo, he isn't expecting his artist to be so fun to talk to. Or so attractive.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 17
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

Dorian takes his key from the ignition and simply... stares at the building. The shop is a simple brick building with neon signs in the windows, with a weathered plastic sign that read 'Charger's Tattoo', bracketed by stylized bull's horns above it. He curses the knot in his stomach. Nothing is intimidating about it, it was just like the other half a dozen tattoo parlours he'd been to in Tevinter. ...But this wasn't Tevinter. He doesn't know what to expect.

A pleasant bell rings when he gets the nerve to go inside, nudged along by his phone telling him it was time for his appointment. His fear of the unknown, of wondering how much different this would be from the shops in Tevinter, subsides. There's still heavy music playing and art all over the walls. Flash sheets and those old school pin-ups, with a few decorative skulls hanging above the front desk where a man waves him over.

"Walk-in or appointment?" He asks. He's pierced to high hell with full, beautifully shaded sleeves on both his arms. He can't be older than mid-twenties, but there's an age around his eyes that betrays his youth. Ex-military is Dorian's educated guess.

"Appointment. With... Bull. Is that you?"

The man behind the desk shakes his head and laughs like there's a joke he's not in on. "You're his email appointment, then? I'll get all your paperwork out and let him know you're here."

"Thank you." Dorian sits himself down in one of the small lobby's chairs and fills out the repetitive paperwork when the desk-man brings it to him. He fills in his address, checks off all the boxes and signs at the bottom - he's done this far too many times, he knows the drill. He still bounces his leg all the while. Desk-man comes and collects his ID and paperwork. It's a few minutes before he returns and passes Dorian's ID back to him.

Ten in the morning on a Monday must not be the busiest time for a shop if the lack of cars in the parking lot and the empty lobby means anything, so he isn't surprised when the desk man leans against the counter in front of him. "Mind me asking what you're getting?"

"A serpent. On my shoulder and curling around to my bicep." He says with a smile. He reminds himself that no matter how nervous he is, he truly is excited to get it. Perhaps his nerves wouldn't have been all twisted in knots if he'd met his artist in person before. Typically, he'll meet to talk out the design and to get an estimation. His schedule had been so packed lately that the only way he could manage was to have everything done through an email thread, down to being sent the finished design and approving it. It took him taking a faked sick day to be able to come in to actually get it done.

"That's gonna look sick, especially with Bull doing it. He's done a few of mine," He says as he lifts his shirt up to show an intricate sword going up his side. It goes past his hip, and it looks like the sword is pierced through the top of a skull, although most of it is covered by the waistband of his jeans.

"I adore his lines."

"Clean, aren't they?"

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Krem." Says a voice from behind the curtain that separates the waiting room from the work stations. It's deep and gritty and makes Dorian melt a little. A good voice is a horrid weakness of his. A large man with horns parts the curtains and ducks through them. He's buff, built more like a bouncer or a bodybuilder than how you'd expect an artist. A low cut tank top shows off an expanse of steel-grey skin covered in ink. Cultural Qunari tattoos down his arms and a dragon covering his chest, smoke and flames coming up in cleanly-lined wisps all the way up to his neck. Dorian shifts in his seat.

"You're right, Chief. The truth does, though." Desk-man - Krem - purposefully bumps into the Qunari when he strolls back behind the front desk.

"Yeah, Yeah," He rolls his eye. The other is covered by an eye patch, another unexpected trait for an artist, but he isn't here to judge. "Dorian, right?"

"Yes. And you must be Bull." The Qunari gives him a nod and holds his hand out. Dorian shakes it with the respectable firmness that he's been taught all his life. 'A real man's handshake', his father always said. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. I just finished getting my station prepped, if you're ready to get going." Bull gestures behind the curtain and Dorian stands. Kaffas, he only comes up to the man's collar. He wasn't the first Qunari he'd ever met and yet he's still taken aback by the size difference. He understands the name Bull now.

He dips behind the curtain after Bull, and the room isn't unlike every other shop he'd been to, just like the waiting area. The buzz of a tattoo gun at one of the stations and rock music blaring from a speaker overhead. There's only one other client here, getting tattooed by an elven woman with brightly dyed hair and a tattooed face.

Bull leads him to an offshoot of the main room. There's a small drawing desk in the corner across from Bull's station, covered with pencils and pens and stacks of papers, all neatly organized. Across from it is the tattoo chair, reclined back to serve more as a padded table, and the stand of equipment beside it.

"Mind taking your shirt off for me?"

Dorian blinks stupidly until his brain catches up and realizes that he's getting a tattoo, not starring in a bad porno.

"No worries, I've seen it all." Bull grins. He's got a really handsome face. A strong jaw and chin covered with stubble, high cheekbones. The eye he can see is a gorgeous pale green. He's... Incredibly pretty. Something nice to look at while he gets repeatedly stabbed by needles, at least. "Just gotta get the stencil on you. We're doing it on your right arm, yeah?"

"Yes, that's right." Dorian gets his shirt off and sets it beside him, unsure what else to do with it. The air conditioner makes it a bit too chilly for his tastes.

Bull comes over with the stencil and the... Lotion? That they use to apply it with. He was in double digits of tattoos at this point and still didn't have the slightest idea of what it was called. "It's nice to see a new face in here," Bull says. He rubs the lotion into Dorian's shoulder, over the top of his chest and down his arm, and all of Dorian's nerves melt beneath the man's hand. Maker, he's pathetic. So starved for touch that getting a tattoo is making him all pink in the face. "So, Dorian. Where you from?"

"Tevinter, originally. I moved here about a year ago."

"Ha! Damn, I'm good. That was gonna be my guess."

"What gave it away?"

"Accent, and the way you hold yourself. Krem's a 'Vint, so I'm used to hearing the dialect."

"Observant, aren't you?" Dorian chuckles. The Qunari leans down to align the stencil and press it against his skin, applying pressure on it for a few seconds before peeling it off.

"You could say that. Mm... I don't know how I feel about that placement. Take a peek." Bull nods to a mirror and Dorian heads over to check it out. The glass has a few stickers in the corner of various alcoholic beverages. A man of taste.

"If we moved it up an inch or two, I think it'd be perfect."

And so they try again. Bull has to scrub at his arm to get the stencil off, gets real close again to reapply it. Dorian hates the extra trouble but is far from complaining about the closeness. It's just... Nice, to have physical contact. The closest he'd had since he'd moved was a few hookups here and there.

He double-checks the placing in the mirror and gives a nod. "Wonderful. What do you think, Mr. Professional?"

"Looks nice and even to me. If you're happy with it, we're good to go." Bull pats the reclined tattoo chair and situates himself on his stool. "It'll probably take us two sessions. We'll get as much done as we can today, probably the linework, then finish it up in a few weeks whenever you're open."

Dorian lays down and tries to get comfortable as Bull finishes prepping the station. Getting the ink, checking the machine, turning it on so that it makes that intimidating buzzing sound. He stares at the far wall while he thinks of small talk to make. Looks at the posters on the wall, at the pictures taped up alongside them. There's a hand full of what he assumes is the full staff, some polaroids that have been taken in the shop. There are quite a few pictures of Krem.

"You ready?" He says as he spins the chair around, rolls it closer. The tattoo gun looks nearly comical in his hold, with how big his hand is.

"More than. To be blatantly honest? I missed the pain."

Bull chuckles, low and rumbly, with a grin that makes Dorian want to squirm out of his skin. "So you're one of those people."

He's fucked.

"I suppose I am."

The other man chuckles again, and he really needs to stop because Dorian is not here to swoon. His hand rests against his chest and applies pressure to start working, the vibrating pinch of the needles so very refreshing. And Bull is so close now that he can smell his cologne on him, something woodsy with a spice that he can't quite put his finger on. Something from Par Vollen, he suspects.

Perhaps he is in a bad porno. At this point, he's waiting for the music to be replaced by that god-awful campiness they played over those old adult films.

"If you ever need a break, just let me know. "

"Thank you." Dorian closes his eyes and feels it all. The music from the muffled speaker, the cool air and the warm hand against his skin, the gentle sting at his chest. He missed this. Getting tattoos, and the atmosphere of the shops. The artists were always kind, funny. Relaxed. No one cares who you are or what your titles are, even in Tevinter tattoo shops. Everyone in them cares only of art and self-expression. 'Appearances are everything', his father would say. And tattoos were an excellent way to perform self, to show who he was simply from appearances.

He isn't sure if he should make small talk or not. That he could see being a cultural difference. This was a larger tattoo, though. If they didn't make small talk, was he expected to stare at the ceiling in silence for hours? After twenty minutes of pondering this, Bull breaks the silence and dear maker is Dorian grateful for it.

"This your first time getting ink since you came here?" Bull's words break his train of thought and he cracks an eye open to peek at him.

"It is, actually."

"How'd you end up coming to me? Y'know. Helps with marketing and shit, to know how word gets around."

"Naturally," Dorian smiles. "Just sifting through shops in the area, honesty. Finding the social media of artists around here and assessing their work. A selective process. You should feel lucky."

"I'm blushing." He snickers. His eye flickers to meet Dorian's, just for a brief moment before he looks back to what he's doing. "Really, though. It's appreciated. It's a competitive career, and it's nice when clients judge you on skill alone."

"And what else would they judge an artist for?" He says it with a laugh, but he feels like a moron the second it leaves his mouth. He is the literal, stupidest arsehole to stroll out of Tevinter - Bull is a fucking Qunari, and from what he can tell, Ferelden isn't as open-minded as it could be. Better than Tevinter, of course, although that bar was low. "Kaffas- I'm sorry."

"For?" Bull says, but he's got a wicked grin on his face that says he knows exactly what for, and that he doesn't care. "Eh, no need to apologize. Blissfully ignorant isn't the worst thing you could be." He pauses to get more ink and keeps talking when Dorian is too awkward to. "All of our clients are loyal, though, they sing our praises and keep coming back. Proud of all my artists, here, too. Not much I can complain about."

"Your artists?" Dorian asks. He takes the first opportunity he can to change the subject and regain some of his social grace. "I take it you're the owner then?"

"The sign with my horns didn't give it away?"

"...You make a compelling point. However, I am a simple idiot and you have caught me in a compromising moment."

"Have I?"

"Shirtless, flustered, and without my morning coffee."

Iron Bull laughs, and even with laughter, he keeps clean lines on Dorian's tan skin. "Seems to be a running theme with the pretty people around me. But I at least let them have their morning coffee before they're on their way."

Dorian huffs out a laugh himself. "What a gentleman."

"Don't hear that one a lot though..." He's gotten over Dorian's shoulder, working at the line work going onto his bicep. He holds his arm against the armrest to keep him still as his muscles twitch with the pain. He's got incredibly strong hands, with 'Iron Bull' written across his knuckles. He can't help but wonder what it'd be like for those large hands to grab him and hold him down... Not in a tattoo chair.

Well. On second thought...

"I like how talkative you are, Dorian."

"I've never been known to hold my tongue. I'm glad you appreciate it, many others don't."

Iron Bull snorts, "Anyone who doesn't like you speaking your mind is either a coward or insecure. Or both."

"Such wisdom. Cheers, I am clinking my spiritual glass of brandy against yours."

"I'm more of a whiskey man myself."

"A respectable choice." Perhaps Bull is just extremely talented at making chit-chat with clients, but the conversation flows so easily for Dorian. While he's good at knowing what people want to hear, even if that isn't what he ends up saying, it's... Not a frequent occurrence for others to find him so agreeable right off the bat or match his energy like Bull is.

And when it goes quiet again, it isn't awkward this time. Dorian appreciates the art on the wall, or the art in front of him when he takes the occasional glance at Bull. His brow furrows when he gets to more detailed areas of the design, focusing, and the muscles of his forearm flex when he adjusts his grip on the gun. He's thankful Bull has to watch what he's doing, and that Dorian is for the most part safe from getting caught starring.

And after a few minutes, they fall easily back into the conversation. "What do you do for work?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was a professor?"

Bull doesn't answer for a moment, giving a thoughtful hum in place of a response. "I can see it," He finally says. "The tattoos I can see could be covered with a dress shirt. Your piercings, too." The Qunari gives a nod towards his chest, a small smirk present across his lips. "What do you teach?"

Dorian buffs, and decides to ignore the part his brain clings to the most. That avenue won't lead him anywhere appropriate. "History. Focusing primarily on the history of the Tevinter Imperium, and the mage rebellion."

"Ha! Good to meet another history buff."

This piques Dorian's interest. He has to keep himself from propping himself up on his elbows and beginning a ramble, to ask Bull what his favourite periods were. 'Do you have a favourite historical figure?' 'Is there an event that particularly interests you?' He wants to ask. It really was a true interest of his, not simply a career he pursued out of necessity. "Really?" He settles for.

"Oh yeah. Damn near went to school for it. I love hearing about all the crazy shit that went down."

Dorian hates, absolutely despises, that hearing him say that makes his heart do flips. Of all things, an appreciation for history should not be what gets his blood pumping. Sweet Maker. Bull has to go over a few lines on his arm and causes him to bite his lip. "A-Absolutely. The thrill of it, most of it crazier than any fiction book has to offer."

"Truth is stranger than fiction."

"Truly." Dorian smiles. Bull adjusts his arm, turns it slightly to keep working. He can tell he's onto the tail, now, as it gets closer to his elbow and begins to pinch more than it had.

"I think we've just about hit the limit for today. The lines are finished, but the shading will be easier, and less painful for you if we do it in another session. How's that sound?"

"I was getting close to needing a break, actually. Immaculate timing."

"Perfect. Sit up for me then, we'll get you bandaged up."

Dorian sits, his back a tad sore from laying down for too long. He steals a glance at the clock for the first time since he stepped in and finds that it's been three hours already. Vishante Kaffas, it had felt like an hour at most. He watches Bull grab the supplies to clean the fresh tattoo, and the clear bandage to cover it. He peeks in the mirror while he waits, and can't help the smile tugging at his lips. The lines are crisp, clear to him even with the excess ink. It's exactly as he'd pictured. Bull's style, with lines thickening and thinning in the perfect places, pretty curves and sharp angles - it's just what he'd wanted. He can't wait to get it shaded in - that's what really drew him to Bull's art.

When the Qunari comes back over to the tattoo chair, he does a wipe down over the fresh tattoo to clear his skin of any leftover skin and blood, then wraps his shoulder and upper arm up in the clear bandage. "You've gotten tattoos before, so I probably don't have to explain the aftercare. But I'm gonna do it anyway," He chuckles. "Unscented soap and unscented lotion or tattoo cream, twice a day, for two weeks. Keep the bandage on for at least two hours after you leave. If it scabs, don't pick at it. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." He teases and grabs his shirt. He wriggles it on over his head rather awkwardly, the bandage limiting his range of motion.

"Good," Bull chuckles. "Any questions?"

"Yes, actually..." Dorian starts rather hesitantly, his words not coming out as quickly as perhaps they should. They tend to do that when he's about to make a terrible decision. "May I have your number? I have a few other tattoos I'm planning out, and I adore your work. I would love to discuss them with you. It would also be quite helpful for scheduling my next appointment, I believe."

Iron Bull laughs, and Dorian freezes. Was he laughing at the ridiculousness of the request? Had he made a joke he hadn't realized? "Sure. I'll get it to you with your receipt."

Dorian all but sighs from relief. "Perfect," he says, and lets Bull lead him back to the front desk. He pays what's left after the deposit and a handsome tip to go along. And it isn't a flirtatious act - not entirely, anyway - this was one of the most enjoyable tattoo sessions he's ever had, and Bull deserves it. He watches the tattoo artist scribble something on the back of his receipt. His number, he assumes. Or... Hopes, rather.

The chances are high, with the way Krem bumps him with his elbow with a chuckle when he looks up from his paperwork and to whatever Bull is writing. The shorter man glances up at Dorian with a knowing look, then resumes his own work. That's promising.

"Here you go. See you soon, big guy." Bull passes him the receipt with a grin. Dorian doesn't have the guts to look on the spot.

"Thank you, Bull. Have a nice day." He says before taking long strides out the door and out to his car. He's a tad shaky, and he truly can't tell if it's from getting needles poked into his skin for three hours, or if it was because he hadn't asked a man for his number in literal years. Everyone he'd met lately had been through god awful dating apps that never got him anywhere.

In the safety of his car, he let his head fall back against the headrest and took in a deep breath. Why was he so nervous? Was he that desperate? Did he like this guy so much already, that rejection after only three hours of spotty small talk would be so disappointing? Maker's breath, he was almost ashamed of himself. With another breath, he gained enough courage to flip the receipt over.

'Herald's Rest Cafe, 11 am next Sunday. Bull.' The purple ink read, with a little doodle of horns framing his signature. Beneath it, his number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would anyone be interested... if I continued this past a one shot? *thinking emoji*


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian's there at ten-thirty. Being a professor encouraged his habit of being early to everything. That was what he told himself, at least. It totally, completely, absolutely was not because he was feeling that horrid first date feeling, that mix between about-to-vomit anxiety and leg-bouncing excitement. 

It's an actual date. Not a 'let's go out for a few drinks as a formality before I take you home', but a casual, talking over coffee date. He hasn't been on one of these in far too long. He feels rusty, like his romance-gears need to be oiled. He's even nervous when he goes to the counter to order his coffee, shifting his weight while he waits for someone to come take his order. One of the baristas notices him after a few seconds and comes over with a hop in her step. "What can I getcha?"

"A medium hazelnut latte, please? Can I get an extra shot of espresso in that as well?"

"Sure thing." She says, punching the numbers into the sticker-covered cash register. The woman has choppy blonde hair and multiple piercings in her pointed ears. She bounces in place as she works. Dorian notices a lesbian flag pin next to her nametag - Sera, it reads - and he feels... more at ease. Safer. He hasn't run into any problems in Fereldan yet, but the years of the richer, more stuck-up parts of Tevinter keeping him on his toes haven't been unlearned yet.

Once he's gotten his coffee he seats himself so he can see the door. And people watch. Because he's nosy, and what else are you supposed to do when you're half an hour early for a date? He's never been to this cafe before, never even heard of it. A goddamn miracle, honestly, because everyone in here seemed to have dyed hair or tattoos or piercings. He was clearly amongst his own. 

He takes a minute to properly take the place in. The flyers for poetry slams and small music shows covered the front window and a bulletin board near the door. The walls themselves had all sorts of art hung up, in all sorts of styles, from charcoal sketches of models to colorful portraits of beautiful women to abstract shapes on a canvas. It was a wonderful atmosphere.

The bell above the door jingles at roughly ten-fifty when Bull comes waltzing in. He spots Dorian immediately, giving him a smile and a nod before going to the counter. The mage figures out pretty quickly that he's a regular here. He chats with one of the barista's while she makes his drink, and even the woman who had taken Dorian's order before comes over to say hi to him. 

"Are you this popular everywhere you go?" Dorian teases when Bull joins him at their table. And sweet Maker, he's just as handsome when he isn't poking ink into his skin, his shirt unbuttoned to expose his collar and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

"Pretty much." Bull laughs. "Nah. A couple of my friends own the place, and Maryden," He nods to the counter again to the woman he'd been chatting with before, a pretty girl with her hair done up in braids. "Is Krem's girl." 

"So you are just that popular." 

Bull gives a shrug and a lopsided smile that makes Dorian want to melt into a puddle. "Haven't been waiting too long, have you?"

"Not at all. Only a minute or two."

"Funny, 'cause Maryden told me you've been sitting here bouncing your leg for a good twenty minutes." Bull's grin is more infuriating than cute now when he takes a sip of his coffee and gives Dorian an amused up-down. He's frankly embarrassed that his nervous tells are that obvious. He'd thought himself a better actor than that. Apparently, high school theater had done him no favors.

"Can you blame me? Look at yourself." Dorian gestures broadly at the Qunari because there isn't one particular thing he can point out that will showcase what he's trying to say. That Bull is sexy, and funny, and easy to talk to, and huge. Naturally, those things are going to stack up and make a date with him intimidating. "Besides, if I'm to be completely honest with you, this is the first time in a good while that I've... Met a man for coffee."

"I'm just giving you a hard time. Been a while for me, too. I get it." 

Dorian feels... Surprisingly relieved to hear that. He feels like a fish out of water, but perhaps Bull does too. "So," He starts, because if he remembers correctly, first dates involve a lot of stupid small talk and surface-level personal questions. "How'd you get into tattooing?"

"It was at the end of a maze with a fuck ton of dead ends." Bull laughs. "Loved art and body mods since I was a teen. Didn't think art would get me anywhere. I was a real smart kiddo so I figured I'd do pretty okay in academia. Got drafted before I could get into college, and by the time I got discharged I wasn't feeling it."

"I can't imagine the military is a breeding ground for academic passion." 

"Fuck no," Although it seems like he speaks of a... Less than optimal time of his life, Bull keeps a smile on his face. "So I got to talking to an artist while I was getting ink done and he offered me an apprenticeship when I showed interest. Lotta shit when down after that, yadda yadda, then a few years later I broke off and started my own shop. And that's the abridged version." 

Dorian finds himself wanting to know the full version of the story. And that takes him by surprise. As a man who finds far too much pleasure in talking about himself, something that he isn't afraid to admit, he's usually bored by these random tidbits of people he's just met's lives, even if he asked to hear about them out of politeness. Yet Bull is so alluring, so instantly interesting that he wants to hear whatever he has to share. 

"And what about you, Professor Pavus? How'd you end up teaching?"

Now that's a long story. There isn't any one good way to start it, either, at least not without showing parts of himself far too vulnerable for the first date. "In the simplest terms? It's what I knew I'd be good at, It would keep me afloat, and it's a skill that I could take with me anywhere I go. One of my tutors in Tevinter was an advocate for affordable education, so his passion for the academic world started rubbing off on me."

"You happy in it?"

That's not a career question he typically gets. He hears 'how did you become a teacher?' or 'what's your favorite part of your job?' or 'how much do you make?'. 'Are you happy?' Isn't something most think to ask. "Yes. I am." He fidgets with the coffee sleeve on his cup, running his fingers over the textured cardboard. And it's the truth. Many other aspects of his life need plenty of work, but his professional life is one that he's content with. He feels helpful in it, takes pride in being the professor whos open to any questions and whose students feel comfortable enough to joke around with. 

"Good for you." Bull smiles at him again. He can see the hint of dimples and deep smile lines behind dark stubble. It pisses Dorian off how much he finds himself liking this man in such a short period of time. He's well aware he's setting himself up for failure, but what the hell is he supposed to do about it?

"Thank you. Um," He clears his throat and takes a drink. 

"Trying to think of icebreakers?"

"You'd think I'd be good at them as a teacher. And you'd be horribly incorrect." 

"You mentioned other tattoos you have in mind. Unless you made those up as an excuse to get a date...." He snickers. 

"I'm offended you think I'd be so desperate as to lie to get a date," He makes a scene of dramatically placing his hand to his chest in faux-offence. "I have plenty of ideas. Is that really something you'd want to talk about on a date, though? It's more of what you already do at work."

"Dorian," He lays his arms palm up on the table, nodding down at the art spanning over his forearms and disappearing behind his sleeves. The geometric blackout and the large axe that goes from his wrist to the top of his forearm. "I live and breathe this shit. I'd love to hear about them."

"In that case..." Dorian's sure he has the most wicked grin on his face, nearly wiggling in his seat from excitement. Many of his friends here in Fereldan are fellow teachers at the university and aren't into this sort of thing. The only exception is that one time a coworker asked about his tattoos and Professor Blackwall chimed in with a cryptic and unnecessary comment about how he had a tattoo, but wouldn't be able to show it. 

Very rarely does anyone invite him to infodump about his tattoo ideas. "Nearly all of my tattoos are on my arms, aside from a thigh piece and one on my ankle. Because of this, my chest feels rather... Bare, and one of my ideas would look immaculate in your style. What do you think of a ram's skull? The head itself centered down my sternum with the horns going onto the pectorals?" 

"Fuck, I love doin' skulls. I think that'd suit you."

"Then I believe that's my next plan after the snake is finished." Dorian beams. "My other ideas aren't as fleshed out, more so vague concepts or meaning than actual plans. I know I want a phrase in Tevene on my ribs, and I've been considering getting another thigh piece based off of the Death card in tarot." 

"You into that sort of thing?"

"I dabble. I used to do readings for classmates at lunch in high school."

"You'll have to read my cards sometime," Bull chuckles.

"Oh, I'm absolute shit at it now." He laughs. "I only pull out my deck every few months, these days. The reasoning for the tattoo is mostly the symbolism. Death is a card of new beginnings, of transformation, even if it isn't easy. It's rather... Pertinent to my life. I enjoy the aesthetic of it as well." Unsurprisingly. He already had one tattoo themed with death, the skull on his arm, and had more planned. There was a running theme here. 

"I'd probably point you to my friend, Dalish, for that one. She's done a few tarot inspired pieces if I'm remembering right." Bull says, resting his chin in his hand. He's kept this easy, relaxed grin throughout the whole date. It puts Dorian at ease, snuffs out any anxiety about if Bull is enjoying the date, or if he's being interested enough. His gaze stays fixed on Dorian when he speaks, and he can tell that he's genuinely being listened to. He's fully invested in the conversation, and it... Makes Dorian feel really good about this.

Maybe he has a chance at this being something. If nothing else, perhaps he'll get a few good dates under his belt or gain a friend if it doesn't pan out. He'd settle for that. "I'll keep that in mind, then. It'll be a good while before I get to that one, anyway. It isn't my highest priority." Dorian finishes off the last sip of his coffee and glances at the clock. Kaffas, it was nearly half-past noon already. Breakfast was beginning to wear off and he was starting to get hungry. "I suppose it's nearly time to part ways, isn't it?"

"Guess so. Unless you'd like to come back to my place for a bit?"

Ah, there was the inevitable question. His confidence sways about the date, that maybe this was meant to be a hook up all along. He bites his lip, unsure of the answer. Dear maker, of fucking course he wants to. Very much so. But he made a promise to himself not to do this anymore, at least until he was in a better mindset about it. There was nothing wrong with hook ups, but using it to 'settle' because he thought it was the closest thing to a relationship he could get? He knew it wasn't healthy. 

"I'm afraid I'll have to turn you down this time," he starts nervously. "I have a habit of moving too quickly and it tends to bite me in the ass every time. Trying to break out of that cycle."

"No pressure, I just wanted to let you know the option was on the table." Bull's smile doesn't waver, doesn't seem angered or offended by the rejection. "But I would like to take you on another date sometime, if you'd have me." 

"I'd very much enjoy that." He wonders if he should be as touched by the Qunari's lack of annoyance towards the situation as he is, or if his bar is too low. "I'm free Saturday?"

"Dinner?" Bull slides his chair back to stand and Dorian does the same, tossing his empty cup into the nearby garbage can.

"Sounds wonderful. Any place you have in mind or do we want to figure it out over text later?" 

"Let's brainstorm it." Bull snickers. He waves at the women behind the counter as they head out the door and one of them - Maryden - tells them to have a good day. The bell of the door chimes behind them. "Thank you," He says with a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "I had a lotta fun talking with you."

He has to crane his neck to look up at him, gets a twinge of those butterflies again when he does. "You're quite welcome. I'm a joy to be around." The wink he adds gets a laugh out of the taller man.

"Yeah, yeah. Get outta here. I'll text you later." 

"See you." They exchange a wave as they walk back to their respective cars and Maker, Dorian's going to be riding the high of this feeling for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cafe is based off of a cute little queer-owned coffee place in my area and MAN writing this made me miss going :( the vibes are always so good


End file.
